


A Marvel of Kryptonian Design

by Mithen



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Butt Plugs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7954972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Superman arrives at the Fortress to find Batman designing something from Kryptonian crystal.  It isn't quite what he expected, but he's willing to have a little fun with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Marvel of Kryptonian Design

Superman sighed with relief as the crystal struts of his Arctic hideaway loomed up around him once more, their icy depths filled with dancing lights and their silvery alien vibrations shivering in the air. It was strange--as a Kansan boy, one might think he’d find the unearthly Fortress off-putting. But instead, it felt strangely soothing. Maybe it was his Kryptonian DNA asserting itself.

“So, what did Constantine say?”

Or maybe, Clark thought as he came into the main hall of the now-inaccurately-named Fortress of Solitude and saw Batman sitting in front of one of the monitors, his fingers dancing across the alien design with unconscious grace-- _maybe_ it was that the Fortress had felt like home ever since Batman had started spending so much time there.

No crystalline tech could be more incomprehensible than Bruce Wayne, after all. Or more beautiful.

Clark dropped a kiss on the back of Bruce’s neck where the cowl was pulled down; Bruce swatted at his hand in absent-minded annoyance, scowling at the monitor. “Constantine told me to piss off,” Clark said.

“Oh, he must have been in a good mood,” said Bruce, “or he’d have told you to _fuck_ off.”

“He must have been, because he did take the book and say he _might_ take a look at it and see if he could decipher it _if_ he had time.”

Bruce’s eyebrows shot up. “He must have been in a _very_ good mood.”

“I hope he doesn’t just throw it in a shredder,” Clark said. “So what have you been working on?”

Bruce tapped the screen with a quick flourish like a trilled arpeggio. “Crystalline 3D modeling,” he said. “Dick was looking into improvements to his escrima sticks and I was wondering if it were possible to come up with a Kryptonian crystal version that would absorb shock better. I don’t know if it’s possible, but I’m still getting used to the Fortress computers and it seemed like a good pragmatic project to--”

There was a sweet, high-pitched chime, followed by the serene, neutral voice of the Fortress saying, “Your schematics are complete, _tynth-ze_.” Clark couldn’t help smiling as he always did when he heard the Fortress address Bruce with the title that meant “mate of the master.” He’d tried to teach it not to, but Bruce had huffed a bit and said he didn’t mind _that_ much. 

“Holographic display on,” the Fortress went on. Bruce snapped “Belay that!” a second after, but a shimmering image made of light sprang into the air in the middle of the hall.

Clark looked at the image for a long moment as it revolved slowly in the air. “That,” he finally said, “is not an escrima stick.”

“It...is not,” Bruce said, his voice flat.

“I may be imagining things,” said Clark, “But it looks remarkably like a…”

An uncomfortable pause in which Bruce did not finish Clark’s sentence. The shimmering image hanging in front of them did a full rotation.

“...a butt plug,” Clark finally said.

“I suppose it does.”

“A butt plug made of Kryptonian crystal.”

Bruce nodded thoughtfully, watching it instead of Clark’s face. “I was...curious,” he said. “I wasn’t going to actually _make_ it, you know,” he added, a trifle defensively.

It was Clark’s turn to nod, watching the crystal plug spin slowly in the air. “You could, though.” He felt rather than saw Bruce’s head turn suddenly to look at him. “I mean, the Fortress could. The design seems sound.”

“Of course it is,” Bruce huffed.

“I’d just add a small detail.” Clark tapped on one of the screens and the crystal glowed briefly. “There. Kryptonian crystals, of course, resonate at some very specific and unusual frequencies. This one can be made to sync up with the pleasure centers of a person’s brain and stimulate them directly.”

“That sounds...intense,” Bruce said, shifting from foot to foot.

“Oh, only at the right signal. Say, a sound at a frequency that humans can’t detect--and only Kryptonians can produce.”

Bruce looked sideways at Clark. “An intriguing use of alien technology.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Clark said cheerfully. “Imagine having that firmly in place, giving you occasional jolts of pure pleasure that seem to light up your body and your brain at once, blotting out every other thing in the world.”

Bruce made a thoughtful noise.

“Imagine the sensation ratcheting higher and higher, cascading until you could hardly speak clearly. But you wouldn’t be able to actually come, you’d just feel obliterated by pleasure until all you wanted to do was beg for more, until you finally couldn’t stand it and--”

“--I could handle it,” Bruce said with finality. 

“Oh?” said Clark. He wasn’t exactly sure where this conversation was going, but he was fairly sure he liked all of the possibilities.

“I didn’t spend years learning esoteric meditation techniques to get broken down by some alien sex toy.”

Well then. “You wouldn’t last a half hour,” Clark said, and Bruce’s eyes gleamed. “You’d be begging for sweet mercy long before then.”

“You want to bet?”

“As a matter of fact...” said Clark.

“You’re on,” said Bruce. “The loser has to have monitor duty with Flash next rotation.”

“High stakes,” Clark mused. “But I accept.”

Bruce held up a black-gloved finger, all brisk business. “A few terms. First: not as Batman, only as Bruce.”

Clark glared. “How unprofessional do you think I am? And you’ll need a safeword of sorts, in case you truly need to cut the games short. ‘Banana muffin’?”

Bruce looked thoughtful. “Blurting that out in the middle of a social function might be a little--”

Clark felt his eyebrows go up. “We’re doing this in public?”

A wicked smile. “What? Don’t you like the idea of watching me be ravished by pleasure at your command while surrounded by people who have no idea what’s going on?” Bruce looked at Clark’s expression and chuckled. “I thought so. Let’s go with ‘the night is young’ for a safeword. It’s something Brucie might plausibly say but you’ll know means for whatever reason I need my head clear and my wits about me.”

“And what about an ‘uncle’ phrase?” Clark said hastily, before he could spend too much time thinking about Bruce allowing Clark to more or less have sex with him in public. “How will I know when you’ve given up?”

“I won’t.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “You will. The question is just whether you last thirty minutes or not.”

Bruce crossed his arms and looked mulish.

“Bruce.”

“Okay, okay. How about… ‘I need to go,’ which we would understand--hypothetically, since I’m not going to say it--actually meant ‘I need to come.’”

“All right,” Clark said. “‘I need to go,’ got it. So...when are we going to do this?”

Bruce considered for a moment. “How soon can the Fortress finish creating our toy?”

Clark felt an absurd delight at that ‘our,’ but tried not to show it too obviously. Bruce’s fond smile hinted that maybe he had failed. “Maybe twenty minutes.”

“Bruce Wayne’s got a fundraiser in seven hours,” Bruce said. “So let’s get a move on.”

* * *

Bruce tugged the tail of his tuxedo and shifted from foot to foot in the meeting room. Outside the room he could hear the chatter of the party starting to pick up. Almost time to start pressing the flesh.

“Is it uncomfortable?” Clark Kent asked. Lately he’d taken to dressing in what Bruce liked to call “utterly failed hipster mode” for his civilian disguise: suspenders, a bow tie, a trilby, the works. The results were intentionally hilarious (and in Bruce’s opinion, unintentionally and paradoxically sexy).

“It’s fine,” Bruce said quickly. In retrospect, he might have _slightly_ overestimated just how much Kryptonian crystal he was comfortable having in a very intimate place, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. The pressure kept the sensation just intrusive enough to be enjoyable, without distracting too much.

“Let’s see how it feels activated,” said Clark, and with no further warning pursed his lips almost imperceptibly.

Bruce didn’t hear anything, but the edges of his vision grayed out as a pulse of pure pleasure seemed to jolt through his entire body before settling into a low, throbbing hum of sensation. “Oh,” he said, struggling to keep his expression neutral. “Okay. Yes. I felt that.”

“That’s the lowest setting,” Clark said, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Right,” said Bruce. He took a few deep breaths and centered himself, letting the sensation become part of his reality, adjusting. He could do this. Thirty minutes. “Well. Let’s get started.”

He threw open the door and went out into the party, smiling and nodding, shaking hands, Clark trailing behind him.

“Mr. Wayne!” cooed Lavinia Wordsworth, influential patron of the arts, holding out her hand for him to kiss. Bruce bent over it--and as he did his brain whited out with pleasure so intense it made his knees go weak.

“Ahhhhhhh it’s so nice to see you again, Lavvie!” he managed, hoping his voice didn’t sound too breathless as he straightened up. The throb at the base of his spine was settling into an insistent shivering static at the edges of his consciousness. Deep breaths. He shot Clark a glare as Lavinia asked him about funding a library; Clark smiled back at him innocently. _Just say the word and admit you can’t take it._

 _Like hell,_ Bruce telegraphed back.

Time for some civic-minded speeches; Bruce settled gingerly in his chair, grateful it was well-padded. The motion still nudged the smooth crystal deeper into his body, and Bruce felt his eyes flutter shut for a moment as it seemed to set off little electrical sparks all through him. God, that was good. He found his muscles clenching more tightly and forced himself to relax. _All you have to do is say ‘I have to go,’ and soon you’ll be coming harder than you ever have in your life,_ he remembered Clark saying. He tried not to think about it, tried not to wonder when the _hell_ Clark was going to up the frequency again, give him the next jolt of bliss that would obliterate everything in the room, _damn it, Clark, why are you making me wait so long for the next one?_

Bruce looked at his watch. It had been four minutes. _Damn._

* * *

Clark saw Bruce glance at his watch and didn’t even try to hide his smirk. He waited another three minutes, watching Bruce try not to squirm, then made the soft, high sound that would up the intensity just a bit more.

Bruce sighed and sagged into his chair, his slightly closed eyes the only hint that he was currently experiencing pleasure at a level that would reduce most humans to babbling and pleading. Unfortunately for him, Lavinia Wordsworth, sitting next to him, decided to take this as a cue to speak to him. 

“These speeches are a bit tedious, aren’t they, Mr. Wayne?” she said, leaning solicitously close to him and keeping her voice at a murmur. “I can tell you’re rather bored.”

“Oh,” said Bruce. “Uh, no. I’m not bored at all.” He took a deep breath, his eyes glassy. “I’m just...my mind was wandering a little.” 

Clark decided now was as good a time as any to nudge the pleasure level slightly higher. 

“Oh God,” Bruce said, biting his lip. His face was flushed and he was sweating slightly, and Clark felt his own jolt of pleasure at the sight of Bruce being debauched in public at his command. Letting Clark affect him like this. 

“You seem to be in distress,” Lavinia said, concerned.

“I’m fine. It’s good.” Bruce managed a smile for her; a smile which went lopsided and loopy as Clark triggered the machine again. “It’s _really_ good,” he breathed.

Lavinia shook her head indulgently: playboy Bruce Wayne, drunk in public again. “Do you need to go?” she asked. “You don’t need to stay if you’re not feeling well.”

“I need…” Bruce’s mouth fell open slightly as he struggled, and Clark’s arousal surged higher, watching him try to put aside what had to be a ravening need for release. “I need to...to...have a drink of water,” he finished in a rush, grabbing a glass and gulping at it.

As he put down the glass, he turned and looked at Clark, a gaze that hit Clark like a bolt of pure electricity: _Look at me,_ his eyes said. _Look at my face as you fuck me in front of every one of these people and see what you do to me._

* * *

Lavinia Wordsworth was bored, and Bruce Wayne was--as usual--a rather tedious conversational partner. Oh, a nice boy, no doubt of that, but numb as a hake, as her father always used to say. 

He shifted in his seat now, squirming like a naughty child, and hummed something tuneless under his breath.

“Mr. Wayne,” she said, mildly scolding, “You should pay better attention.”

“It’s _very_ difficult,” he said, his voice thick. “I have a lot on my mind, you know, and--” He broke off and seemed to take a moment to collect his thoughts. “Uh. God.” He swallowed hard and went on in a rush, “I really really really am having a hard time staying focused right now, and I’m not exactly _complaining,_ but--uh huh, yes, okay,” he said quickly, then fell silent, breathing rapidly in little gasping breaths, his eyes half-closed. Lavinia wasn’t sure any longer if he was drunk or in actual pain.

“Mr. Wayne,” Lavinia said, “If you’re not well, you don’t need to stay here. You can just--”

 _“I have to go,”_ Bruce blurted out, and Lavinia was startled to hear that reporter a few seats away say it at exactly the same time, his voice breaking.

“I have to go too,” Clark Kent repeated, jumping to his feet with his cheeks flushed, and now Lavinia was slightly alarmed, because whatever bug Bruce Wayne had seemed to be contagious. The two of them made their way to the door with unseemly--nearly preternatural--haste, and Lavinia Wordsworth was left to murmur in amazement to her remaining neighbor, “Brucie’s always leaving early, but this time must be close to a record.” Looking at her watch, she added, “It’s only been thirty minutes!”

* * *

Flash zipped around the monitor room, chattering happily. “Gosh, Supes, it’s great of you to come in and do monitor duty with Batman and I,” he said. 

“To be honest, Superman is only here because he lost a bet with me,” Batman said, earning himself a glare from Superman.

“A bet? The Big Blue Boy Scout, a betting man? I never would have thought it,” Flash said.

“I didn’t _lose_ ,” Superman said sternly. “It was a tie. But in the spirit of fair play, I thought I’d treat it as a loss.”

Flash thumped him on the back. “Well anyway, I appreciate it. I have to admit, I wasn’t looking forward to hours of sitting around with Mr. Gloomy McGrumpyson.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Superman with a small smile. “I’ve spent some time sitting around with Batman that I’ve found truly enjoyable.”

Flash looked at Batman doubtfully. Batman stared back at him without expression, and Flash decided to drop the topic. “So…” he asked instead, peering at the schematics on the computer screen. “What are you working on?”

“A device that emits sounds at frequencies only perceptible to Kryptonians,” Batman said. “It can be carried unobtrusively in the hand, or clipped to a belt.”

“I...guess that might come in useful someday,” said Flash, although he wasn’t sure how exactly.

“I do hope so,” grinned Superman.


End file.
